Naming
by Reading Redhead
Summary: Carl can trace the development of their relationship by the changes in how his partner says his name. Tom/Carl. Rated for a swear word and oblique reference to sex.


Naming

"Your name is _part of you_. There's power in it, tied up with the way you secretly think of yourself, the truth of the way you are. Know what a person's name means to him, know who he feels he _is_--and you have power over him." --S'reee, _Deep Wizardry_

From the first time Carl meets Tom, he knows there's something different about the way he says his name. At first he thinks it's just the west coast accent, making the 'r' more defined than he's used to in Brooklyn, the 'a' less of a drawl. But it has to be more than that. Even before Carl really knows Tom, he appreciates his voice, always courteous but with a wicked streak buried beneath the charm, equally ready to answer a professor's question with ease and to deliver a pitch-perfect monologue on the evils of his first New York winter.

The day they find out about each other, Carl shows up at Tom's door with manual in hand and a stunned look on his face. Tom opens the door with, "Hey, Carl, what--" before catching sight of the book lodged under his arm and saying, "God, you too?" Yeah, Carl says, me too, but he's more occupied with the fleeting thought that Tom will never say his name the same way again.

Later, when he and Tom have been partners for a while, Carl decides that what he likes most about it is the way that Tom has as many different ways of saying Carl's name as there are situations in which to say it. There's the amused and exasperated "Carl," drawn out into two long syllables and accompanied by a slight roll of the eyes heavenward, or perhaps a sigh, generally occasioned by some personal fix-it project of Carl's that's gone wrong. The casual usage, as in, "Hey Carl, it's me, Tom," not that he needs to say who's calling by now, "wanna meet up for coffee later? I might've found a place that brews a cup strong enough for you." Then there's the exclamation, which on a good day means, "Carl! Come here, you've gotta see this!" and on the bad days means "Carl! Holy shit you better think fast or we're both dead!"

Carl's forced to admit that he's falling for Tom when he realizes that his favorite thing about the way Tom says his name is getting to watch the movement of Tom's lips around the sounds. He realizes it might be mutual when he notices that those lips can't speak his name without a smile.

Then one day Tom says it as a question, a tentative invitation, and he's not smiling but there's something burning behind his eyes and the palm he puts to Carl's hand is hot, and Carl looks at his partner and thinks, _O God, don't let me fuck this up_, before closing the distance between them in an answer to everything that Tom hasn't needed to say. A little later he learns what it's like to hear his name accompanied by a sharp intake of breath and Tom's warm body and "Oh God, don't stop."

They have their differences, of course, and their fights, in which names are spit out as expletives and accusations, harsh-voiced, red-faced. Carl always feels guilty afterwards, when the anger wears off, because no one, not even Carl, has the right to say Tom's name like that.

The years have taught him how to say it right: a whispered "Tom, wake up, the sunrise is beautiful;" a stern "Tom," accompanied by a slight glare when he catches his partner feeding the dogs table scraps on the sly; a murmured "It'll be okay, Tom," while holding him a little tighter than necessary after a bad day.

A simple, sincere, "Tom, will you marry me?" followed by the longest silence of Carl's life and the most joyous look he's ever seen on Tom's face.

They are wizards; they know the power of telling a person who he is, and they have a duty use it with care. Most people, when they say Carl's name, say it like they're momentarily borrowing it from him for their own purposes. "Carl, go to sleep, it's almost morning." "Jeez, Carl, stop trying to fix it, we should just call a mechanic." "Now listen, Carl, if it's not too much trouble, could I ask a small favor?" It stops being an emblem of who he is and turns into an admission of who they want him to be.

But not with Tom. No. No matter how, or where, or why he says it, there's something fundamentally different about the way that Tom speaks Carl's name, not like he's taking it away from Carl, but like he's been keeping it safe while Carl was busy, and just needs an excuse to give it back. When other people say his name, Carl sometimes feels like a part of him is taken away. But when Tom says it, it's all about giving--strength, support, advice, encouragement, joy, love. Pain too, sometimes, and anguish, and fear, and doubt, but with Tom, these things, though present, become bearable.

Tom shakes his head in disbelief and bends forward to kiss Carl deeply, before drawing back just enough to look him in the eyes and say, "Yes, Carl, I will."


End file.
